


Krit’s Whumptober 2020 Fills

by Krit



Category: Cut & Run - Madeleine Urban & Abigail Roux, Sidewinder Series - Abigail Roux
Genre: Accident, Angst, Being Lost, Blackmail, Blindness, Blood Loss, Broken Bones, Buried Alive, Chemical Pneumonia, Chronic Pain, Crying, Enemy to Caretaker, Eventual Happy Ending, Extreme Weather, F/M, Failed escape, Fire, Fluff, Gen, Grief, Hallucinations, Hanging from wrists, Held at Gunpoint, Humor, Ignoring an Injury, M/M, Magic Healing, Multi, Other, Paranoia, Pick who dies, Ringing Ears, Sensory Deprivation, Sleep Deprivation, Struggling, Take me instead, Whipped, Whump, Whumptober 2020, abandoned, drugged, get it out, reluctant bedrest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:55:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 16,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26753176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krit/pseuds/Krit
Summary: Does as it says on the tin.Each chapter is a different day.Tags etc, added with each fill.
Relationships: Julian Cross/Cameron Jacobs, Kelly Abbott/Nick O'Flaherty, Zane Garrett/Ty Grady
Comments: 160
Kudos: 48
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	1. Hanging Shackled - Kelly

The worst part of having medical knowledge is knowing exactly what’s happening when you’re hurt. Sometimes it’s comforting. Like when you scrape your knee, and knowing why the pain is happening makes it hurt less, because the point of pain is to let you know something is wrong.

But being able to feel your wrists dislocating, and understanding with every breath that you’re slowly suffocating on your own body weight, and knowing exactly what’s going to happen next as your body shuts down... Kelly wondered if death was better as a mystery.

The sound of voices was confusing. The light pouring in as the heavy door scraped open burned his eyes, and Kelly wasn’t sure if his captors had returned, or...

“Kelly?!” More voices and movements, more lights. Kelly was practically blinded, but he knew that voice. His lips twitched in a smile as hands worked to free him.

“Hey Nick.” He rasped as best he could. “How’s it hangin?”


	2. Pick Who Dies - Ty, Nick, Zane

It was such a goddamn cliche. It wasn’t fair. What kind of bullshit lame ass wannabe villain pulled this kind of tired ass Batman movie shit?

Zane and Nick stood in front of Ty. All three of them had their hands cuffed in front of them, and about two dozen men surrounded them. 

“You decide who dies, and we let you and the other one go.”

Such bullshit. Not to mention there was no way they would keep their word. And even if they did... no. There was no way. 

“This is _bullshit_!” He shouted. 

“Ty. It’s okay.” Nick was staring at him with a serene look on his face. No. No way. Ty’s stomach rolled. He couldn’t. He couldn’t make that call. Couldn’t watch him die. Couldn’t know it was his fault. Couldn’t let Zane take that guilt. Couldn’t face Kelly. 

But he couldn’t let Zane die. He couldn't...

“This is bullshit.” He said again, voice a whisper this time as tears rolled down his face. 

“It’s okay.” Nick forced a smile. “You can feel bad at my funeral.” 

Ty let out a broken humorless laugh. “No.”

“I just want one thing.” He glanced at their captors. “Can I get a last request?” 

They shrugged and the leader told them to get on with it. 

“I want a goodbye kiss. A real one.” His smile grew genuine. The glint behind his eyes getting brighter. “Everything’s gonna be okay. Kiss me, Grady.”

Ty stared at him for a moment before nodding. He stepped forward and they let him. He raised his bound hands to cup Nicks face, and pressed their lips together. He opened his mouth, and Nick slipped his tongue, and a handcuff key, inside. 

Ty smiled against his lips. It was time to go home. 


	3. On Your Knees At Gunpoint - Deuce

Deuce grunted in pain as his knees hit the floor. His leg was enjoying this even less than he was. 

“I don’t exactly keep cash in the apartment.” He said calmly, proud of himself for his voice not wavering. He was just glad the girls weren’t home. For a moment he thought that maybe he should start keeping a baseball bat in the livingroom as well as the bedroom, and then he realized he realized he was starting to sound like his brother. “I suppose I could give you the car keys. Maybe a free therapy session?”

The robber wasn’t amused, and Deuce felt the cold metal of the barrel of a gun pressed to his forehead. 

“Nice place like this? Hotshot doctor like you? No way there’s nothing valuable.”

Deuce’s blood went cold. His chest grew tight and his stomach churned. There was a gun to his head. _There was a_ ** _gun_** _to his_ **_head_**. He felt hysterical laughter bubble inside him. He was right. He would’ve made a lousy marine. 

“We’ve got more of a Buddhist hippie vibe around here.” He managed. “Money doesn’t buy happiness, and all that.”

The sound of the gun cocking had an odd effect on Deuce. It wasn’t that he wasn’t scared anymore. He was still terrified. But his hands stopped shaking. His mind stopped racing. That awful feeling in his gut was still there, but almost like it was in the background. The fear wasn’t gone. It just wasn’t stopping him anymore. 

He looked up, the barrel of the gun still pressed to his forehead, and stared into the man’s eyes. 

“There’s a lockbox in the bedroom. It’s got bank account information and such. My wife and daughter’s trust funds. That sort of thing.” His voice was steady again. “The combination is obnoxious, but I can open it for you.”

“Alright. Show me.” The man stepped back, keeping the gun on him. 

“Yeah, gimme a minute.” Deuce got up slowly and carefully, minding his leg. “Robbing a cripple. Real classy.” He muttered. 

He led him back into the bedroom. Getting down on his knees again, he reached under the bed and grabbed the lockbox. He pulled it out and pushed it across the floor. 

“Put that on the dresser. Gimme a minute to get up again, and I’ll open it.”

The robber took the box and turned away, and Deuce grabbed the baseball bat under the bed. He stood as quickly as he could, and crossed the room. Taking the bat in both hands, he brought it down on the man’s head. 

Once he was sure the man was unconscious, he grabbed his phone and called the police.

What kind of _asshole_ robs a cripple? And what kind of _idiot_ robs a Grady?


	4. Buried Alive - Zane

Zane pressed his hands to the metal above him. He couldn’t even straighten his arms. Laying on his back, he closed his eyes and made his breaths as small and shallow as possible. This wasn’t an execution. It was a ransom. He wasn’t going to die. Someone would come for him. Ty would come for him.

~

Four days since Zane was taken. Three days since they were sent the ransom video. Two days since they were told Zane would die if they didn’t pay. Twelve hours since Owen managed to trace the kidnappers. He found their original hideout, and the base they’d run off to after the last message. They hadn’t been gone long. It was almost the deadline. Ty sent Nick, Owen, and Digger after the enemy, and took Kelly and Mark to where he knew Zane had been left to die.

~

It was getting harder to breathe. Zane felt tears roll down his face. There were two things that terrified his husband more than anything. Being buried alive, and losing Zane. He hated to think what this would do to him. He remembered losing Becky. The idea of Ty going through that kind of pain was too much to bear. He hoped he would let their loved ones take care of him. That he wouldn’t fall apart the way Zane had. Ty was so strong.He would be okay. He’d have to be.

Zane wished he’d been able to say goodbye. He thought about their last kiss. It wasn’t enough.

~

They entered the building, which was little more than a barn, and spread out. There was nothing.

“Here!” Mark shouted. He was pointing to a patch of ground that looked like it had been dug up and put back. Ty felt the blood drain from his face. No. No no no.

He could hear the other two shouting and looking for tools. But Ty just dropped to the ground, and started digging with his bare hands. It wasn’t deep. The kidnappers had apparently planned to give them the location and have them dig him up alive once they’d paid.

Ty’s bleeding hands hit metal and he could almost breathe again. Mark and Kelly had found a shovel and what looked like a trowel, and helped him uncover the box. As soon as they found the latch, they forced it open.

Zane was horribly pale, his face bruised and wet with tears. But he was breathing.

~

Zane could hear shouting and scraping, grinding against his ears. Too loud but so far away. He couldn’t think. Couldn’t...

Cold air hit him, almost painfully as the shouting got louder. There were hands on his face. Wet and grimy and gentle and comforting.

“Baby, please! Open your eyes for me.”

There was nothing Zane could do but obey. Brilliant green eyes stared back at him. More hands were on him. Someone talking. Kelly? They helped him up and out of his shallow grave, and Zane immediately curled up in Ty’s lap.

“You came for me.” He rasped. Ty’s hands stroked his back and combed through his hair as he kissed the top of his head.

“I promised I would never leave you alone in the dark.”


	5. Failed Escape - Ty

How many times had he been here? How many more would there be? Sometimes he dreamt of being home and safe. But then he was back here. On this table. Cuffs cutting into his wrists. He could hear Nick’s screams echoing from the other room. 

Nick. He had to get to him. He struggled. His entire body was like a raw nerve, nothing but frantic pain. He couldn’t even tell what his injuries were anymore. They melded together.

Then he heard it. The sharp click of metal snapping. He pulled his hand in front of him. The cuffs tight around his wrists, the chain between them broken. He sat up. The room was empty. He could hear their captors voices outside. He’d have to be quick and careful.

Find Nick. Get out.He rolled off the table and onto his feet. At which point, he’s knees immediately buckled and he fell to the floor. Biting his tongue to keep from screaming at the pain spiked inside him again, Ty took a deep breath. Tears blurred his vision, and his hands shook, but he got back to his feet.

One step. Then another. Each one was agony. Like walking across glass on broken ankles. But Nick’s screams were getting louder. He was getting closer. He could make it. He had to make it.

He could see the doorway. Could see inside. Grey table, red blood, orange hair. A Boston accent shouting threats and insults. He stepped towards the room, and they were on him. He fought. As hard as he could. But the hard he fought, the worse the pain grew.

Hands on him. Arms around him. Trapped. He couldn’t move. He tried to fight. Nick screaming, sounding so far away. A voice in his ear, almost inside his own head.

_“Come back to me.”_

Ty shook his head. He had to get out. Had to get Nick. He was so close.

_“You’re okay. You’re safe. You’re home. Come back to me.”_

Ty screwed his eyes shut, and when he opened them, it was dark, but for a small glow from the corner of his eye. He was pressed back against something solid. His arms and legs pinned tight. He struggled.

“Shhh.” There was a face next to his. And then lips on his shoulder. “It’s okay, baby. You’re okay.”

Ty blinked rapidly and shook his head again. The glow in the corner was a nightlight, plugged into the wall. The arms around him. The lips on his skin. The voice in his ear.

Zane.

Ty took a deep gasping breath as Zane rocked him gently. His grip loosened as he realized Ty was awake now. He stroked his arms and pressed kisses wherever he could reach.

Ty began to tremble, tears streaming down his face. He could still feel the memory of that pain from all those years ago. It had been so long since he’d dreamt about it so vividly. But Zane was solid around him. The bed was soft underneath them. He was home. And Nick was fine. Wasn’t he?

Ty took a few more steadying breaths and croaked. “I need to call Nick.” Zane nodded, and handed him his phone.

“Do you want me to go get you some water?”

“Yes please.” His lips twitched as Zane moved away and got out of bed. God but he loved this man. “Can I have a real kiss first?”

Zane grinned and turned back to him, leaning down, he pressed their lips together, firmly but gently, his fingertips brushing the side of Ty’s face.

“I love you.” He whispered as he pulled away.

Ty leaned back against the pillows, breathing steadying, as he pulled up Nick’s contact info. They were home. They were safe.

Everything was going to be okay.


	6. Get It Out - Emma

“It’s too much!” Emma squeezed her eyes shut, trying to curl around herself. “I can’t take it! Make it stop!”

“It’s gonna be okay.” Kelly choked out, his face pale as he tried to smile reassuringly. “You trust me, right? You picked me for a reason. You know I’d never let you down.”

“Get it out!” She screamed. “Just pull it out now! I don’t care what you have to do!” She sobbed as Nick pet her hair, his hand in hers as he kissed the top of her head. He was seated behind her, half comforting, half restraining as Kelly worked.

“You’re okay.” He murmured. “You got this. You’re okay. You’re gonna make it.”

“I’m dying! I think I’m dying!”

“You’re not dying!” Kelly told her firmly. “I’ve _seen_ dying, you’re not dying.”

“Nothing’s ever hurt like this. Just make it stop. _Please_!”

“I know. Just a little longer. That’s all. You can do this.”

A little longer ended up being two hours. And when Emma felt ready to give up and pass out, a sharp piercing screech filled the air.

“There she is!” Kelly whooped, laughing and crying all at once.

Nick squeezed his arms tight around Emma. “All done. You did good. I’m so proud of you. You’re amazing.” He kissed the top of her head again and she laughed weakly.

“It’s done? It’s over? She’s here?”

“She’s here, and she’s perfect.” Kelly sat on the edge of the bed, and passed the freshly cleaned and swaddled newborn into her arms. “Well done, mama.” He said, beaming.

“Not so bad yourself, Doctor Papa.” She chuckled.

“Midwife Papa, thank you very much. And for the record, this was not in my SARC training. I had to learn all that from scratch.”

“Well, you did great. Nick helped a bit too.”

Nick snorted. “I did the least amount of work, and she looks the most like me. That’s fair.”

“Oh my god, her eyes are already kind of green.”

“Between the two of you, I’m not surprised.”

“She’s here. She’s healthy. Good work, team.”

“Have we settled on a name yet?”

“... _Fuck_.”


	7. Enemy to Caretaker - Ty & Beverly

Ty groaned and tried to shift to a more comfortable position. There wasn’t one. Everything hurt. His arm. His hand. His neck. He wasn’t sure if it was the most exciting Fourth of July he’d ever had, but it was up there.

He tried to sit up, but couldn’t quite manage it. God he hated hospitals.

“Here, don’t hurt yourself further.”

Before Ty could register the voice, there were hands on him, helping him shift up, pressing the button to raise the head of the bed, and fixing a pillow behind him.

“What the hell?” He blurted, staring at Beverly in shock.

“Harrison had to drag Zane home to make him shower and get some sleep. I promised to keep an eye until he comes back.”

“Because you wanted an opportunity to kill me and make it look like an accident?” He asked wryly. His voice was so raspy. Why did it hurt so much? He raised his hand to his neck and felt bandages. Confused for a moment, he remembered the rope around it, not forty-eight hours prior. Rope burn and bruises around his throat. That was gonna look classy.

“I don’t want you _dead_ , Mr Grady.” Beverly sighed. “Quite the contrary. Under very different circumstances, I might even have enjoyed your company.”

“Well now you’re just flattering me.” Ty reached for the cup of water on the bedside table, and Beverly reached out again. Minding his broken hand, she helped him take a drink and poured him more.

“There aren’t many people with the balls to stand up to me, let alone the intelligence to go toe to toe. Do you know when the last time someone took me down a peg was?”

“No ma’am.”

“Nor do I.” She sighed. “I don’t _hate_ you. I hate that my _only son_ has taken up with a boy half his age, and has completely abandoned his family and his responsibilities.”

“Seven and a half years.”

“What?”

Ty sighed and shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain for a moment. “I’m seven and a half years younger than Zane. I’m not _half his age_ , because, and I do realize that this may have escaped your notice, but your son is _not_ fifteen years old anymore.”

“That’s not-“

“ _I’m not done_.” He caught his breath and held her gaze. “I _hate_ Texas. I hate it so much. I hate the culture. I hate the horses. And being in the desert does _no_ favors to my ptsd. I _hate_ it. But I would move here in a heartbeat if Zane asked me to. But that’s the thing. He doesn’t want to.”

“And if you asked him to?” Ty could see the gears turning behind her eyes, and had to admire her audacity for a moment.

“I wouldn’t. Because I know that while Zane loves his home, and his family, and his stupid fucking horses, he hates this life. And so do I. We’re happy where we are. He. is. _happy_. That has to mean something to you on some level.”

“And you hate the money as well, then, I suppose?” She scoffed

“ _Yes_ , actually.” He relished in her shocked face for a moment. “Mrs Carter-Garrett, not that it’s _any_ of your business or _at all_ the point, but I have a couple million of _my own_ money in the bank that I never spend. And back in Baltimore? _Zane_ lives in _my_ house, that _I_ own outright. Paid in full.”

He watched her try to process that for a moment before closing his eyes, the pain had begun to morph into exhaustion.

“And _by the way_. Something else that may have escaped your notice. But you have a three year old grandchild that is already brilliant and fearless. You’re so obsessed with the Garrett name. Names can be changed. Fuck the patriarchy, you’ve _proven_ what women can do in this game. Treat Sadie better than you treated your children, and teach her to take over. There’s your dynasty continued right there.”

His breath was labored, the conversation taking more out of him than expected. It had been a rough week.

Beverly helped him drink another cup of water, and lowered the bed back down. Fixing his pillows before pulling the thin hospital blanket up over him again. Her hands paused there for a moment before she reached up and pet his hair gently. Ty wondered how many times she did that when Zane was sick as a child.

“Thank you, Tyler.” He heard her whisper.


	8. Abandoned - Zane

The house was dark. It was dusk, or dawn, or... the sun wasn’t coming through the windows. Zane sat on the floor of the livingroom, hunched over the sketch paper on front of him. His smudged dirty hands shaking as he ran the charcoal back and forth, spreading black abstract patterns.

There were more papers, covered in more charcoal patterns of scribbled black voids. Some were torn, others were crumpled. There was no furniture in the room. The picture frames on the walls were blank. Whiskey and beer bottles littered the floor, mixed in among the discarded sketches.

Zane scribbled harder, the charcoal breaking apart in his hands. He could hear laughter outside. The sound of clattering metal and clinking glass. Ty was working on the car. He was laughing and talking. There was a woman’s voice with his. Another familiar laugh.

Zane could hear Ty and Becky talking outside, but he couldn’t understand their words. His vision blurred, the mess in front of him losing what little shape it had.Tears fell on the paper. He wiped his face and shakily rose to his feet. Stumbling towards the back door, he could see that it was light outside. Bright and brilliant and so warm. It was so dark and cold in the house. He tried to see Ty and Becky out there, but the light was blinding.

He could hear them, but still couldn’t make out a single word. They were laughing. They sounded so happy. Zane forced the door open and staggered outside.

But there was no one there. The light was gone. It was just as dark and cold outside as it had been in the house. The car was covered and tucked away. The toolbox next to it, rusted and dusty. It was quiet. The only sound was his own ragged breaths. He was alone. He was-

Zane shot up, sitting in bed, gasping for air. He scrambled for the lamp, letting the soft glow fill the room. The bed was empty and cold next to him.

Zane let out a choked sob, not bothering to try and stop the tears from coming. Four days. It had been less than a week since Ty left for redeployment. But it seemed that Zane’s subconscious was already convinced that he wasn’t coming back.

~*~

“No, but you know how stubborn he is.”

“That’s why you have to bribe him.”

Zane snorted as he raised his glass to his lips. Sitting at the bar atthe little hole in the wall in NOLA as he listened to Ty and Becky talk about him in the corner. He wanted to go over and talk to them. Why didn’t he?

“Are you coming to bed?” He turned and saw Ava standing on the stairs. Ty and Becky got up and followed her.

Zane managed to grab Ty’s arm just as he hit the first step. “Wait for me.” He begged. Ty turned and looked at him. His smile full of love and his eyes full of sorrow.

“No.” He answered softly. “Please Zane. Don’t follow us. Not yet.” He pulled his arm free and took the glass from Zane’s other hand. “Please.” He whispered, before heading up the stairs without him.

Zane’s eyes opened and he squeezed them shut again. Pressing his face into his pillow, he shouted in frustration. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could stand this. But he knew he would. He had to. He could be strong. And Ty was going to come home.


	9. Take Me Instead - Nick

It was easier to mitigate things at night. He could plan. Could prepare. There was a routine to it. He knew what to expect. Afternoons were harder.

Nick was always on alert. He had to be. His father’s moods could shift on a dime. Brian was sitting at the kitchen table with a beer and a newspaper while Nick and Erin cleaned up after lunch.

Nick’s blood froze before he even registered the sound of breaking glass.

He wasn’t quite quick enough. Brian’s hand connected with Erin’s face just as Nick grabbed at his arm. He’d had a growth spurt recently. He was getting taller and stronger. And when he pulled at his father, he actually managed to move him a bit.

Brian turned to face him and started shouting, the back of his hand cracking against Nick’s cheek. Erin tried to move around the broken glass on the floor, and Brian snarled at her to stay put. Nick shoved him.

“Leave her alone!” He snapped. “Erin, go outside with Kat!”

Brian slammed him back against the fridge and Erin bolted from the room.

It was okay. She was safe. Nick could keep his father’s attention. So long as his girls were safe. So long as it was him and not them. It was okay. Better him than them. It was worth it. 


	10. Blood Loss - Digger

“Hey hey hey! Stay with me, man! Stay with me!” Kelly patted at Digger’s face, trying to keep him awake. He had finally managed to dig out the bullet, and stitch up the wound, and Digger was passing out on him.

Kelly looked down at the sand around them, and the blood. Too much blood. His brother’s blood. The evac wasn’t coming for a while yet. Too long. Kelly stared at the blood on his hands and tried to think.

Think of what to do. _Don’t_ think about how Digger is dying. Think of a _solution_. What can you do? What do you have? Med pack. No blood bags. The only blood around was soaked in the sand and-

And in Kelly’s body. He had blood. They were compatible, right? He double checked Digger’s dog tags just to be sure he remembered correctly. He could do this. He had needles. He had..... maybe he didn’t have all the right equipment, and it wouldn’t be perfect. He couldn’t give him much, and Digger would still need a transfusion when they got back to base. But he would live long enough to get there.

Kelly scoured through his pack, grabbing whatever he could to make this work. Stabbing himself with a needle was an odd experience, and he decided to remove intravenous drug use off of his bucket list.

But it worked. It worked, and they made it back, and Digger was recovering in the med tent, and Kelly was dizzy as fuck, but he had a cookie, and Digger was gonna be okay, so job well done.

Digger squinted at him as he cleaned the wound.

“They said you gave me your blood out there.”

“Yeah, it was kind of all I had on hand. Or... in arm.” He snorted. Digger chuckled and shook his head.

“Bad enough I’m surrounded by white boys all day, picking up your bad habits, now you’re pumping me full of your blood, too.” He tried to sound bemoaned and put out, but the grin on his face ruined it.

“I mean... if it makes you feel better... I’m not _completely_ white, remember?”

“Oh yeah! Good point! That _is_ better then.”

They laughed and Kelly squeezed his hand.

“Get some more rest, brother.”

“Aye aye, Doc.”


	11. Struggling & Crying - Deuce & Amelia

Deuce sat down heavily on the couch and dug his fingers into his leg. Bad days were few and far between, and the very bad ones even more rare. But when they came, they came hard.

“Daddy?”

Deuce looked down into the sparkling green eyes of his three year old daughter and forgot about his pain for a moment. 

“Hello, angel. You wanna sit with daddy and watch cartoons?”

“No. I wanna play tag.”

Deuce’s heart sank as his leg twinged sharply at the very idea. He wasn’t even sure if he could stand right now. Sure, if there was some emergency, like a fire, he could get them both out, but he probably wouldn’t be able to walk for a week afterwards. Running around the apartment... that wasn’t an option. 

“I... I can’t, baby girl.”

“Why?”

“Because. I... I’m not feeling well. I can’t run around today.”

“You never run around.” Amelia whined, her face turning red. She wasn’t one to throw tantrums, but it was always clear when she was upset. 

“I know baby. But we can do other things. And when mommy comes home from work, she can-“

“No!” Amelia cried. “I wanna play with _you_!”

Deuce took a shaky breath, frustration making his mind race and his words catch in his throat. How was he supposed to explain this to a toddler? 

“I can still play. Just not... I can’t run around with you.”

“But I want you to!”

“So do I!” Deuce felt the tears burning his eyes. He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, didn’t know how to fix this. His leg was throbbing, and he could feel her tugging at the hem of his pants to try and make him stand. 

“Then do it! Get up!”

“ ** _I can’t, Amelia_** _!_ ”

He hadn’t even realized he’d shouted until it was already echoing in his ears. He didn’t mean to snap. Didn’t mean to yell. He looked down at his daughter’s sweet little face and saw her lip tremble as her eyes filled with tears. 

“Baby girl... I-“

But it was too late. She began sobbing, a sound that cut into him so deeply, he didn’t give a fuck about his leg anymore, he just wanted to make it stop. And hated himself for being the cause of it. He reached down to pick her up, but she turned and raced out of the room. 

Deuce tried to stand, and dropped back down onto the couch as soon as he put weight on his bad leg. He had a cane for days like this, where the hell did he put it? 

He sat there with his own tears for a moment. Trying as many stretches and exercises as he could to ease the pain enough to get to Amelia’s room. He had to make sure she was okay. He had to apologize. 

He managed to get up and make his way down the hall. He stopped at her doorway for a moment to catch his breath. She was curled up on her bed with one of her stuffed animals. Her crying had mostly subsided, but wasn’t over. 

“Hey, baby girl.” He murmured, catching her attention. “Can I come in?” She nodded and he went to sit at the foot of her bed. 

“Are you still mad at me?” She asked quietly, sniffling. 

“ _No_ , baby.” He breathed, horrified at himself. “I was _never_ mad at you. I was mad at _me_.”

“Why?”

Deuce sighed and shook his head. He’d been able to clear his head a bit and think of ways to explain it so she would understand. 

“Because when I was a kid... a lot older than you, but much younger than I am now. I did a very dumb thing. I broke a lot of rules and did something very dangerous. And I got hurt.” His voice cracked and he wiped the tears from his eyes. “I broke my leg. But it didn’t break in half, it broke into a lot of pieces. The doctors put it back together, but they couldn’t fix it like new. That’s why I walk different than mommy and most people. And I’m a little slower. I can’t run much. It also hurts sometimes. And sometimes it hurts a lot. And that makes it harder.” 

Amelia stared at him, letting herself process what he was telling her, and trying to understand it. 

“Like Nemo?” She finally asked. 

“What?” Deuce blinked at her. 

“Nemo. The fish. He has a bad fin, and can’t swim as good.” 

Deuce let out a small laugh when he remembered the movie she was talking about. The one with the fish and the dentist and the creepy kid. He’d liked that movie. “Yeah, baby. Like Nemo. Or. Well. His was a birth defect, although it was due to injury as an egg. Mine was an injury later in life, so I’m more like the Willem DaFoe fish.”

“Gill?” She asked him. He didn’t think she knew who Willem DaFoe was, but he was pretty sure that was the only other physically disabled fish in the movie. She then nodded sagely. “Yeah. He was grumpy sometimes.”

“I’m sorry I was grumpy. I’m sorry I yelled. That was wrong of me. I love you very much.”

“I love you too daddy.” She smiled and wiped her face of her teddy bear. “Can I have a hug?”

“Oh, _always_ , baby girl!” Deuce grinned and held his arms out, and Amelia clambered into his lap and hugged him as hard as she could. Deuce held her close and kissed the top of her head. 

He knew this wouldn’t be the last time this was an issue. But he hoped he knew now how to better handle it next time, and that she could better understand. They’d figure it out along the way. Just like everything else.


	12. Broken Bones - Deuce

By the time Deuce had realized what happened, it was already over. It was almost funny how the big things were like that. The best and the worst moments of your life. Either they took eternity, or they were over before you could blink.

Ty leaving had felt like eternity. A series of moments that never ended. He didn’t want them to end. He wanted his brother to stay. He was so scared to lose him. So terrified that Ty was gonna do something stupid and get himself killed.

Pinned between a motorcycle and a tree, crying and bleeding, and in more pain than he’d ever felt, Deuce had to appreciate the irony.

His leg felt like it was on fire. His head was pounding. His back ached. Every twitch he made, every time he tried to shift or move, had him screaming in pain.

Why had no one heard him? How far was he from town? He was near the road. Anyone passing by would see. But he chose this road because no one ever took it. It was safer that way.

Deuce laughed a little hysterically, the sound turning to a sob as the movement jostled his leg. It was broken. It was definitely broken. And not like that time he broke his ankle jumping out of that tree. This was... bad. This was really bad.

If somebody didn’t come soon...

“ _Help_!” He shouted, desperately. “ _Please_! _Somebody_!”

Ty would know what to do. He’d be able to get out of this.

The harder Deuce tried to free himself, the worse it hurt. He could swear he could hear the bones crunching. Or maybe it was the metal of the bike. The bike... it was busted up as bad as he was. He’d helped Ty build it. Fixed it up. And now he’d ruined it. He promised he’d be careful. And now...

Deuce stopped trying to free himself and just sagged back against the tree. He pulled his helmet off and tossed it to the side. He was so dizzy. He felt sick.

“ _Mama_!” He called out, weakly. He knew it was dumb. She was home. She couldn’t hear him. But in that moment, she was all he wanted.

Miles away, Mara Grady stood on her front porch, chewing her fingernail.

“Something’s wrong.” She told her husband. “He should’ve been home by now.”

“A teenage boy with a motorcycle ain’t home by curfew?” Earl mused. “Unthinkable. You’re right, he must’ve been kidnapped.”

Mara smacked him hard in the chest before retrieving the truck keys. “I’m gonna go see what’s taking him so long. He ain’t just galavanting around. Somethings wrong, I know it.”

Earl ran to join her. If it was nothing, he’d like to be there for the look on her face. His wife being wrong was a rare occasion. But something was the matter, that meant his boy was in trouble, and he’d be damned if he wasn’t there to help.


	13. Chemical Pneumonia - Nick

Nick curled up as small as he could. Where was Ty? Why hadn’t they brought him back yet? They brought Nick back ages ago. His breath sped up in panic, sending him into a coughing fit.

When they opened the cell again and shoved Ty inside, Nick reached for him.

“You smell like a bad engine.” Ty muttered as he wrapped his arms around him and tucked his head under Nick’s chin.

“Yeah, I think the water in today’s waterboarding was actually watered down gasoline.” He held Ty close, careful not to disturb the fresh wounds on his back. “That’s what it tasted like, anyway.”

“How do you know what watered down gasoline tastes like?”

“Because I was waterboarded with it today.”

“But how do you know that’s what it was?”

“Because that’s what it tasted like!”

They laughed, small and desperate, almost hysterical. Just trying to cling to some kind of light in the darkness. It drove Nick to another coughing fit. They eventually managed to drift to sleep.

Nick’s cough got worse. His head ached so badly he almost didn’t notice any of the other pain. It was hard to move. He couldn’t breathe. Ty was calling his name. He sounded so far away. But his hand were on Nick’s face. His neck. His chest. Nick shoved the hands off of him and pulled at him to curl up with him. He just wanted to go back to sleep.

He nodded off time and again, waking up alone, confused and terrified. But sometimes Ty was there. Holding him and singing. That was good. That was nice.

Soon he could breathe properly. The cough and the headache were gone. He was still tired, but he could think again.

Ty was crying.

“You’ve been sick.” He informed Nick, shakily. “You scared me.” He added in a whisper. “I need you to not do that again, okay?”

“Okay.” Nick agreed, voice weak as he clung to him. “I won’t.”


	14. Fire - Digger

Duruand Garrigou was a trained professional. He knew what he was doing. He was a genius pyrotechnician and weapons expert, and at the top of his field.

He was also in a considerable amount of pain.

He’d always loved fire. Everything about it. Ever since he was a child. Always hated the smell of burning flesh, though. It was even worse when it was his own.

He took a slow deep breath. And then another. The explosion was small and contained. Nothing was still on fire. He wasn’t still on fire. That was good. Okay.

Next step. _Sit up._ That was more difficult. There was that pain again. Swearing colorfully in French, Digger managed to get himself upright. Only moderately dizzy. His phone was too far to reach. He’d have to stand.

_Just keep breathing._ He’d been hurt worse than this before. Though not alone. Should he call 911 or one of his cousins? He didn’t know if he’d be able to direct the EMTs through the mine field in this condition. The burns felt worse than they looked. He could probably manage them with basic first aid. He just had to stand up.

_On your feet Marine. Can’t rest yet. On your feet. Breathe. Slow and steady. It’s just pain. It’s just fire. Your fire. On your feet Marine._

His arms trembled as he braced himself. One foot. Then the other. _Up._ He wavered as he stood, but steadied himself. Now he just had to get back the the work table. It was right there. Just a few steps.

_Right foot. Left foot. There you go._

His ears were ringing. He was getting dizzier. But he reached his phone. Singed, but unbroken. Just like him. He pressed his cousin’s contact info, and nearly sobbed with relief when the man answered.

He managed to explain in as few words as possible, and did sob with relief when his cousin said he was on his way.

He made his way to his chair, and sank down into it. His whole body was sore, but only his arms were burned. He didn’t see any damage that looked worse than second degree. His back was probably bruised to hell. But nothing felt broken.

_Just keep breathing Marine. You’re okay._

He’d figure out what went wrong with his experiment in a week or two.  
  


_ Oorah.  _


	15. Magic Healing - Mara

Dominique Beaumont taught her daughter everything she’d ever need to survive. Taught her to use the power inside of her. The power of the mountain. She wanted her daughter to be strong and brave. And so she was. But Mara had one thing her mother never had. A limitless capacity for love.

Mara never saw much point in using her powers for theatrics or intimidation. Took less energy to punch your enemy in the face than to hex them. Less dire consequences to boot. Mara saw the value in her magic when it did what she couldn’t. Her power was there for when she was powerless.

When her husband came home from war, jumping at shadows and the light gone from his eyes. Crying and shouting in his sleep. She had no words that could help him. Nothing that could fix this, save for what the mountain gave her.

And so, at night, she held him. Her magic reaching out to him to pull him from the darker places of his mind and bring him back to her.

And so, she cooked and baked, and poured her love and comfort into every crumb.

When her boys were born, she taught them the magic of the mountain. And when they cried, she would hold them and sing, and they knew that they were safe.

When Beaumont ran away to war, she did everything in her power to give him protection. When Deacon was injured, she exhausted herself to aid his recovery.

She knew something went wrong. She always knew. And then her son came home with that same dullness to his eyes that his father had all those years ago. And so she did what she did best. She took care of her loved ones. And her boys had learned to take care of each other. Using their own magic and forming a bond she’d never had with her own siblings.

And every broken child Beaumont brought to her door, she embraced with love, and magic, and pie. She could almost see the patchwork of magic sewn into them over old wounds. Her son’s fingerprints on jagged edges where he’d tried to polish them.

She would sit at her table, and feed them, and talk to them. Letting the warm and comforting magic that permeated her kitchen, settle into them and soothe what could be soothed.

Every time, she couldn’t help but smile at the memory of her five year old boy, with devastated tears in his eyes, bringing her his favorite teddy bear that had been torn apart. She’d sat at this same table, and sewed it back up, almost good as new. 

There were a lot of things Mara could do just fine without magic. And her son looked at this man with more love in his eyes than he’d ever shown for that teddy bear. But she would always fix anything important enough for him to put in her hands. And this man had healed her son in ways that magic could never touch.

Her sons had been gifted from the mountain, a substantial power.

And inherited from their mother, strength, bravery, and a limitless capacity for love.


	16. Hallucinations - Zane

“Wake up.”

Zane squeezed his eyes shut tighter. Reaching out for the bottle of whiskey he kept next to his mattress. Growling when he realized it was empty. The only light in the room was the soft glow of the digital clock. The newspaper on his window had a double advantage of keeping his ‘employers’ from peeping in on him, and blocking out the bright lights of downtown Miami. 

His head was pounding. Today was his wedding anniversary. Was supposed to be their eleventh. Instead it was the first without her.

“Wake. Up.”

The voice was clearer. Why was it clearer? He drank to silence it. The booze, the drugs, the rent boys. It was all supposed to make him forget. Make her go away.

At first, those first few weeks, it was a comfort. She would

come to him. Speak to him. But then she would be gone. And the pain would come back worse than before. But now, the more he tried to ignore her, the crueler she became.

“What are you doing, Zane?” She sneered. “Is this the man I married? The man I thought I loved? Look at you.”

Zane rolled over, curling in on himself and pressing his hands to his ears. It didn’t help. It never did.

“Pathetic.” She scoffed. He could feel her fingernails scratching hard over his scalp, tugging at his hair, a harsh mockery of the sweet way she loved to play with his hair when she was alive.

“Go away!” He moaned brokenly.

“How can you send me away when you won’t let me go?”

It was quiet for a moment. And then he heard her scream. Full of rage and pain, the sound of metal and glass, and anguished sobbing.

But the sobs were his own. She wasn’t really there. He was alone. He was only ever alone. He scrambled for something to numb the pain. Another bottle. Something. Liquid, powder, pills, he didn’t care. Whatever it took to make it stop.

Whatever it took to make her go away.


	17. Blackmail - Ty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is not very explicit, maybe an M, but it does contain dub-con elements as it deals with the beginning of Ty’s relationship with Chas Turner.

Ty sat in the barracks, chewing his lip and staring at the wall. Turner said his threat of blackmail was a rouse. He didn’t mean it. But he _did_ want to sleep with Ty. And he _did_ have information that could hurt him. And he was his commanding officer. And now his team leader.

He said that he was sure Ty would want to be with him and come to him willingly. Did he mean he planned to seduce Ty? Or did he mean he knew Ty was smart enough to know that sleeping with Chas was in his best interests?

He sighed heavily and rubbed his face. Chas Turner was an attractive man. Screwing him wouldn’t be a hardship. And he’d implied that he wanted Ty to top, so it wasn’t like...

And the alternative? Go about, just waiting for the other shoe to drop? Better to do it on his terms, right? Maybe that’s what Turner meant. Maybe that was the choice he was giving him.

He said that Ty would make the first move. The man loved chess and mind games. He’d set the board. Now Ty had to make the first move. He just had to be sure it was the _right_ move.

He went to the officer’s quarters that night, giving some half assed excuse about needing to go over something. Turner’s eyes sparkled and his lips twisted into a self satisfied smirk. Ty knew he’d made the right choice. This was what he was supposed to do.

Chas locked the door.

“Strip. Fold your clothes and put them on the chair. Then I want you at attention.”

“Sir-“

“I didn’t tell you to speak.”

Ty shut his mouth and did as he was told. Standing at attention in the center of the small room, he tracked Turner’s movements with his eyes. The man stopped barely a foot away from him, eyeing him with a curious but almost bored expression, as though he were doing a standard inspection.

He reached out and ran his hand down Ty’s chest, over his abs, and back up. Ty tried not to flinch or swallow when that hand wrapped lightly around his neck. Chas smirked and tightened his grip slightly. Not enough to restrict his breathing, but enough to make him feel it.

Ty knew he was being tested. Turner was pleased when he’d stood up to him before. But this was different. He’d proved he had a will and a mind of his own. Now he had to surrender them both. Turner knew Ty would speak up when something was unreasonable. Knew he would give as good as he got when necessary. But right now he needed to know that he would follow orders.

And Ty was good at following orders. He stood still. Face forward. Didn’t make a sound. The hand stayed around his throat as Turner circled him slowly, his other hand exploring the rest of Ty’s body. Appraising him like livestock.

The silence was deafening. Ty could feel his heartbeat quickening. Knew Chas could feel it under his fingers. Could feel his skin twitch and shiver in response to his touch. Ty wasn’t sure if it was excitement or fear. Maybe it was both.

The hand on his throat moved, and a thumb brushed over his lips.

“Open.”

Ty did as he was told and when that thumb slid over his tongue, he closed his mouth instinctively. After a moment, Chas pulled his thumb away, tugging Ty’s bottom lip slightly as he did so.

“Have you ever sucked a cock before, Corporal?” He asked casually.

“Yes, Captain.” Ty said quietly. It had only been a couple times. But it wasn’t bad. He would’t mind doing it again.

“That David boy, I assume.” Chas sounded amused. “Did you fuck him?”

“Yes, sir.” That was just the once. Neither of them knew what they were doing. It wasn’t as fun as the other stuff, so they never bothered trying again.

“Did he ever fuck you?” Ty couldn’t help but flinch as that thumb slipped between his asscheeks.

“No, sir.” He whispered. He held his breath, mind racing. His face was growing hot with embarrassment and possibly desire. Turner’s hands felt good on him. Warm and firm. This might even be fun. Like he said. A good way to blow off steam.

“Do you want to fuck me, Grady?”

“Yes, sir.” He answered quickly. He’d already made up his mind about that.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” The tone of his voice suggested there was only one right answer. Again, Ty weighed his options. Considered the position he was in. The consequences that each of his decisions could have.

The correct answer was that it didn’t matter what he wanted. It wasn’t about desire. It was about power. Control. Surrender, submission, or defeat. At least submission left him something. The illusion of control. Of choice. Chas Turner had all the power here.

And somehow that made it all easier. The only way out was through. And hell, maybe he’d even enjoy himself along the way.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good boy.”


	18. Paranoia - Earl

Earl couldn’t sleep. He laid there for a moment, trying to ignore the twisting feeling of dread sinking in the bottom of his stomach. Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. He slipped out of bed and kissed his wife on the cheek, before setting out to patrol the house.

He tested, unlocked, relocked, and retested every door and window in the house. Looked out every window, scanning the property for anything amiss, and then pulled the curtains shut. He checked every room, and investigated every creak the old house made.

He checked on his parents, fast asleep. His father restless and his mother muttering half a conversation. But both safe and sound.

Deacon was out like a light. The pain meds they had him taking these days wiped him out. He wanted to start weaning off them, or trying something else before he started college in the fall. Said he wanted his head clear. The accident had set him back a ways in school, and Earl knew how proud he was of himself for getting back on track again. Earl was damn proud of him too. He wasn’t sure he said so, often enough.

He sat on the edge of his son’s bed and brushed the boy’s hair back like he’d done a million times. He’d nearly lost him. Could’ve done, so easily. It was damn near a miracle they didn’t. Earl kissed Deacon’s forehead and left him to sleep, checking the window and shutting the door.

He opened Beaumont’s bedroom door out of habit. Then decided he ought to check that window, too. He looked around the room, and swallowed back a lump in his throat. They’d just gotten a letter that morning saying he had made Recon. They were proud, all of them.

Earl checked the window again. Tested the lock. Sat down at the foot of Ty’s bed, staring at the photos on the walls.

Force Recon was relatively new back in his day. He’d tried for it and didn’t make it. Later on during the war, he met up with the boys who did, and couldn’t help but feel like he was the lucky one.

He knew his father had been involved in one of the reconnaissance groups that inspired it, back in his time. He remembered once, as a teenager, he’d asked his mama what Chester had been like at his age. She got a sad sort of smile on her face. And told him that the boy she fell in love with before the war, and the man she’d married afterwards, were exactly the same, and yet, two completely different people.

He didn’t know what she meant at the time.

He thought about the pieces of himself that he lost, and the ones he picked up along the way. The scars he’d earned and the ghosts that come with them. He wondered who his son would be when he came home.

_If_ he came home.

Earl heard something crash outside and reached for a gun he no longer carried.

Probably just a raccoon in the shed.

Earl went downstairs to check the locks again.


	19. Grief - Julian

Julian managed to hold it together until he got home. Stone faced and solid until Cameron wrapped his arms around him, kissing him with relief.

“Are you alright?” He asked.

And Julian broke. Collapsed to his knees, arms wrapped tight around Cameron’s waist, clinging to the only thing he had left in the world, as he sobbed and wailed with a pain he didn’t know he was capable of feeling.

Cameron didn’t need to ask. He knew exactly what it would take to do this to his husband. And so he stood there as long as Julian needed, combing his fingers through his hair as he shed his own tears for their fallen friend.

The first few weeks were an awful haze of denial and rage. There had been no body. But the entire building was ash. There were a lot of unrecovered bodies. And if Preston was alive... Julian had been dead for six months once. And no one knew. No one but Preston. Julian would know.

They were brothers in arms and partners in crime. Where one went the other wasn’t far behind. They always had eyes on each other. The idea of walking through the world knowing Preston didn’t have his back... They’d been separated before. But not like this.

He was gone. Not lost or missing. He was gone and Julian would never see him again. Never hear his voice. Never hug him or yell at him or joke with him. There was just this hollow ache inside him and he couldn’t make it stop.

“Sweetheart?! It’s alright, honey, calm down.”

Julian hadn’t even realized he’d been crying until he felt Cameron’s hands on his wet face. Hadn’t even noticed he was hyperventilating until Cameron’s voice was telling him to breathe. He let himself fall apart again. Cameron held him as he did every time it happened.

It hit him fresh every time. He’d be doing nothing at all. The most fleeting memory would cross his mind, and carry with it the heavy reminder

_he’s gone he’s gone he’s gone he’s gone_

He’d get a drink from the kitchen and all at once see the two of them, twenty years old, laughing and smoking, and hear the echo of the gunshot drowning out the last words he’d ever hear from him, and he was suddenly screaming with rage, because _how in the fuck_ was that how Preston died?!

Taken out by some upstart thug’s bodyguard in _fucking Miami_?! Preston was supposed to die at Julian’s side. Quietly, of old age. After every last one of their enemies was gone. It was the two of them against the world, and they were supposed to _win_.

Not like this. He wasn’t supposed to leave him like this. His mind would imagine how it all went down, from what little he heard, picture it, over and over, and Julian couldn’t for the life of him understand why he hadn’t been there. Why he hadn’t protected him. A million things he could’ve done differently that could’ve prevented this.

He knew it wasn’t his fault. He knew it was all his fault. He didn’t cause this. He should’ve stopped it. Preston made his own decisions. Julian failed him. He was selfish and now Preston was dead. 

He didn’t know what he would do without Cameron. Well. That wasn’t true. He knew. He just refused to dwell on it.

Because he still had Cameron, and Cameron still had him. He could be strong for Cameron, and Cameron could take care of him. Together they could keep going. Together. Just the two of them. Without Preston. Preston was gone.

_he’s gone he’s gone he’s gone he’s gone_

Julian didn’t answer phone numbers he didn’t recognize. When the voicemail alert chimed, he sighed and pulled it up, frowning in confusion at the length of the message. Pressing play, a woman’s bubbly professional voice sounded in his ear.

“ _This message is for Julian Finnegan. I’m calling from Mercy Miami Hospital. Your brother Timothy has been in our coma ward since March, listed as a John Doe. He woke up this morning, and was able to give us a small amount of information. His injuries were very severe, and the doctors are still assessing his condition. But he was adamant that you be notified. You can reach the front desk at this number, and we can let you know when he’s cleared for visitors._ ”

Julian’s head swam. Finnegan wasn’t one of his aliases. Miami. Timothy? Timothy Fin-

Tim Finnegan.

_**‘Thanum an Dhul, do ye think I'm dead?’** _

Julian couldn’t help the laugh that burst out of him. And then he couldn’t stop. Pure relieved joy, and exasperated mirth, because that cheeky little bastard!

_he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive_


	20. Lost - Eli

Eli couldn’t find his feet. Stumbling in the dark. Left, right, up, down, backwards, forwards. There were shapes moving in the dark. He called out and they didn’t hear. A woman’s voice in the distance. He followed it.

Up and out through an alley. Onto the crowded city streets. It was day. There was something he was supposed to remember.

“Excuse me!” He tried to get the attention of people as they walked by. “Can you help me?” No one even looked at him. “Can you tell me how to get to the FBI field office from here?”

They ignored him. What was he forgetting? He wandered until he heard a familiar voice.

“Six!” He called out as he sprinted towards his friend. He stopped short when he saw who Ty was talking to. And it all came rushing back with enough force to nearly knock him off his feet. He remembered. “Ty! Get away from him!”

He remembered that face. The face of the man who killed him. Talking to his best friend, smiling like Ty wouldn’t rip his head off with his bare hands if he knew the truth.

“Ty that’s him! You have to stop him!” But Ty didn’t even twitch. “Tyler, please!”

“He can’t hear you.”

Eli jumped as someone grabbed his arm, pulling him away. It was a woman. Dark curls and deep brown eyes. She was looking at him with such pity and sorrow.

“What do you mean, he can’t hear me?” Eli pulled away from her. “He’s right there!”

“But you’re not.” She sighed and shook her head. “You know why.”

“No.” Eli shook his head furiously, eyes squeezed shut. “No!”

“Fighting only makes it worse.”

“No!” Eli pushed past her and followed Ty as he and another man began to walk away. “Grady! I’m right here! Turn around! Please!”

“Stop.” The woman said gently, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “Your part in this is over. You’ve done all you’ll do. The rest is up to them.”

“I have to help him!”

“You can’t! I’ve tried!” She snapped, her face twisted in frustration. “I’ve screamed at him a hundred times. I’ve begged him. I’ve tried so hard to save him. The few times he may have actually felt me there, I think I only made it worse.”

She looked over at the strange man standing next to Ty. Tall, dark, and handsome. He also looked like it would only take a light breeze to make him fall apart. He looked tired. The woman stared at him like she wanted to do all that screaming and begging all over again.

“He’s only here because I failed.” Eli choked out. “If he dies, it will be because of me.”

“I know the feeling.” She murmured, still staring at the man before closing her eyes and shaking her head in resignation. “Come on. There’s nothing we can do for them.” She started to walk away, and Eli only spared one look back before following after her.


	21. Chronic Pain - Chester

A long life wasn’t without drawbacks. The shoulder he dislocated too many times, twinged and creaked whenever he moved it. His back ached and cracked no matter what he did.

Chester never really begrudged his Evie for leaving the world when she did. Between the arthritis and the headaches, and whatever else she wasn’t telling him because she refused to let anyone fuss over her, death must’ve been a peaceful relief. And god knows that woman deserved a rest.

The only arthritis Chester had was in his hands. But he’d been dealing with that his entire adult life. He could still remember, clear as yesterday, the day each of his fingers had been broken.

One by one, the same question asked between each go. Never did heal properly. He remembered halfway through the second hand, wondering what they were gonna do when he ran out of fingers. The realization that he was more curious than afraid had caused him to burst out laughing.

For decades afterwards he always responded to anyone nagging or pestering him with “You gonna try the toes next?” in bemused Japanese.

Had that been ‘42 or ‘43? That part he couldn’t remember. It all blended together, really.

His ribs never healed right, either, even though they’d only really managed to crack them. His lungs coated in coal dust. His chest always ached when it rained.

A long life and a hard one. Every scar and ache and pain, a reminder of all those years earned. Fought for and hard won with stubbornness and luck. So many boys from those days never even made it home.

His twin brother never made it home. One of the handful of Marines that wasn’t even supposed to be in Normandy in the first place. Born together, and he went and died on the opposite side of the damn globe. He was gonna get an earful when Chester got to the hereafter.

And so, he took the cricks in his spine, and the sore hands, and every other bit of evidence that he was alive, and he let it remind him to be grateful. The pain of survival was a privilege.

He knew what unbearable pain was. He knew what he could take. And he knew how much he was willing to take in exchange for sticking around a bit longer.

He’d made it this far, after all. Why not try for 100?  
  



	22. Drugged - Ty

Ty was never good with drugs. Even taking cough syrup as a kid did more harm than good. But booze had always been fine. And absinthe was more booze than drug, right? Ava said it was. And if nothing else, she knew what she was talking about.

Ty knocked it back, scrunching his nose at the licorice taste. It didn’t seem any different than normal alcohol. It was certainly damn nice against the adrenaline from the show. Ava slid her hand up his arm. Her skin was soft and warm.

The glow of the bar lights looked liquid in the dark. The few people still milling about seemed to blend into the scenery. Ava was talking to the couple they’d flirted with earlier. She’d joked about taking them upstairs with them. Had she not been joking?

The man in front of him was giddy and nervous. Drunk enough for this, but less drunk than Ty. He looked nothing like any of the men Ty had been with before. His hands were soft, and almost gentle. Warm.

There was no green fairy or swirling hallucinations. But there was darkness, and colors melting together. Ty couldn’t understand why it seemed so quiet until he realized his mind had gone still. Numb and silent. The only things that existed were the four of them and that big warm bed. The hands on his skin and the fire in his veins.

He felt like he was sinking. No one ever told him oblivion felt so safe. No one could find him here. Not even his nightmares. He was hidden and free. No chains. No leash. No rules. No identity.

He couldn’t remember why that was a bad thing. Why couldn’t he stay here, the smell of incense instead of blood. Screams of pleasure instead of pain.

He could disappear here. His beautiful girl. Their little paradise. With music to play, and strangers to play with. And the sweet comforting surrender of absinthe.


	23. Sleep Deprivation - Sidewinder

They tried to take care of each other. They really did. The structure and ritual of the base actually helped. To an extent. But it was wrong. Everything was wrong. The world didn’t make sense anymore. 

Ty and Nick had been gone for almost two weeks. Not just gone. Missing. Out there somewhere, and they had no clue where. They could be dead. And if they weren’t, chances are they wished they were. 

No one would tell them anything. No one knew anything. And so, being smart young men with active minds, the remainder of Team Sidewinder spent every moment imagining every gruesome fate that could be befalling their brothers while they sat there and did nothing. 

It was quiet on the base. Everyone noticed. No one had realized how much _life_ Sidewinder brought to a room until they were broken and subdued. Not even speaking to each other. Sitting in the mess hall, staring at their food, barely eating any of it. 

None of them were sleeping. 

Past midnight, Kelly could be found in the med tent, cleaning everything. He put every scalpel and needle neatly in every properly labeled drawer and box. He arranged every medicine bottle in perfect straight lines with the labels all facing front. On the fourth or fifth night of doing this, while stacking cups in even numbered matching columns, he had a fleeting thought that Ty would be so proud of what he’d done with the place. 

And it was at that point, when he collapsed to the ground, laughing hysterically and sobbing uncontrollably, that one of the medics forced him into a bed and sedated him. And after a twenty hour nap, and a meeting with his CO, Kelly was back in the med tent at two in the morning, cleaning and organizing. 

Owen had managed to steal, bribe, and manipulate every scrap of information the brass had on the helo crash. Every night, he found a quiet corner to study every detail, memorizing coordinates and assessing possible routes. Map after map drawn out and assessed. More information gathered. Every whisper, every rumor, every theory. He was sure he could find a way to figure out where they were. 

He had to be forcibly removed from the Tactical Officer’s tent on several occasions, ranting and begging them to just let him _help_. They insisted they would only listen to his proposals if he came to them well rested and coherent. And so he would work for three nights, sleep for one, bring them his findings and theories in the morning, and start again. 

Digger was building something. He wasn’t sure what yet. At first he just needed to keep his hands busy. They didn’t shake when they were busy. It would probably end up being something useful. But until then, he just kept working. Too focused to think. Mind can’t wander when handling explosives. Gotta stay sharp. Gotta keep going. Keep moving. 

And when he would finally burn out, and crash, deep asleep for a few hours under his work table, his mind was too full of math and chemical formulas to make any room for nightmares. 

Eli seemed to be the most put together. He was eating the most. He was looking after the others. He wasn’t speaking much, but none of them were. Every day and every night, he would wonder the base, bringing his brothers water and blankets. Checking in. 

When he helped carry a once again drugged Kelly to bed, the field surgeon asked how much he was sleeping, himself. He looked up at her, staring with unfocused, glazed over eyes, blinked slowly, and shook his head. 

“I’m fine.” He said, his voice thin and quiet, but clear and firm, almost like he wasn’t there, an echo of itself. It wasn’t like the wailing wounded animal noises Kelly made when he crashed, or Owen’s manic raving shouts, or Digger’s mumbled half word distracted grumbling. 

She nodded slowly at him as he patted Kelly’s sleeping head, and told her he was going to go check on the others. There was a sway in his step as he walked away, that made her make a note to research just how functional people could be while sleepwalking. 


	24. Sensory Deprivation - Owen

They were pinned down. Hiding underneath some blown out building. Dark and damp with muffled sounds of mayhem above them. Doc had already had to sedate Six just to get him down the stairs. Half of them were injured.

Owen had a flesh wound gunshot graze that took out a chunk of his thigh, a broken ankle, a chipped tooth, and a headache. All of which Kelly could easily fix good as new, but not until they got back to base. Especially with Digger’s head wound and concussion, and the deep gash on Nick’s arm that wouldn’t stop bleeding, both needing more of the good Doc’s attention.

So, despite having the least threatening injuries, Owen was arguably in the most amount of pain. Kelly patched him up and tried medicating him, but it barely took the edge off. He chewed his lip bloody trying to hold in his cries. They needed to stay hidden until evac came. But he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t control the sounds clawing out of him.

“Buddy, please, you gotta stay quiet.” Eli reminded him, in a frantic whisper. “I know it’s bad, I know you can’t help it, but you gotta.”

“ _Knock me out!_ ” Owen begged. “Just knock me out. Doc’s gotta have something!”

“Don’t you think if I could do that, I would have by now?” Kelly responded. “You have a concussion too, on top of everything else, if I knock you out now...”

“If you don’t knock me out, I’ll get us all killed.” Owen pointed out, trying to choke back a broken whimper that proved his point.

“I might... I have something that will keep you conscious, but should numb the pain and keep you quiet. But it’s gonna suck. They told me it’s almost like sleep paralysis.”

“I don’t care, just make this stop and shut me up!”

He barely felt the needle pierce his skin. The pain ebbed. His body relaxed. The pain was gone. The makeshift basement they were in became darker. The noises around them quieter. For a moment, it was sweet relief. He couldn’t feel anything but Eli’s hand in his. Couldn’t hear anything but his own breathing.

But then that was gone too. There was nothing. Just the darkness. He tried to will himself to speak. He tried to flex his fingers. Nothing.

For one long terrifying moment, Owen wondered if he was dead. He was numb. The pain was gone, but so was everything else. Eventually, he remembered what Kelly said. This was just the drug. He was okay. He just had to wait.

Lying there in the darkness. He couldn’t even hear himself breathe. He didn’t know what was happening. Were they still waiting? Had the evac come yet? Was it over? Were they safe? Were they in danger?

If the enemy found them now, there was nothing he could do. He wouldn’t even know. Right that moment, they could be fighting, they could be dying, and he wouldn’t know until... He could just die like this. Never see it coming. Maybe he was right before. Maybe he was already dead. Maybe he’d been taken somewhere else. Maybe...

How long had it been?

Maybe the enemy found them and the others were dead, but they thought he was already and left him. Would he starve to death? Would he suffocate? Was he still breathing? If he starved to death, would he feel it? Were there rats down here? How long did this drug last?

How long had it been?

It was still dark. But he could see light. Soft glowing light. Sounds. Voices? Beeping. Clattering. He couldn’t make them out. It sounded so far away, but right in his ears. He wondered if he was imagining it. His leg was itchy. He tried to scratch it. He felt the slow drag of the rough blanket under his fingers.

One of the sounds started to stand out. He recognized it. He felt tears of relief fall from his eyes as he turned his head.

“Doc!” He whimpered. He could hear it. His own voice. His own shaky breaths. The lights and sounds started to come into focus. They were back at base camp. He was in the med tent. Kelly was yelling at someone.

Owen gripped the blanket between his fingers. He was alive. He was safe. He could hear the others. Digger reciting the alphabet backwards and forwards, and answering random questions. The head wound must’ve been bad if they were worried about brain damage. Nick was complaining about... something. Ty was speaking Farsi, and likely asleep. Eli was asking someone questions.

Eli’s voice was closer now. Owen blinked his eyes and tried to focus. Eli was standing next to his bed. Kelly was with him. They were asking him questions. He shook his head.

“Water?” He managed. They helped him drink. They asked him simple questions. They told him they’d been stuck for hours down there. Kelly’d had to sedate Ty twice, and Digger nearly passed out three times. Eli had kept an eye on Owen’s vitals. The drug was fairly new, and Kelly had never administered it before, and was concerned about the effects.

“Throw it away.” Owen told him quietly.

“It was that bad?” Kelly’s eyes were wide with guilt and fear.

“It was pretty bad. Not worth it I think. Don’t worry about it, just... Toss it out of the pack. Tell your friends. That one sucks.”

“Done.” Kelly said firmly, squeezing Owen’s hand. Owen squeezed back, holding as tight as he could, refusing to let go.  
  



	25. Ringing Ears - Zane

It was barely noticeable at first. Living in Miami, there was always gun shots and screaming, and music and noise, and the fights and the nightclubs, the drugs and the cars... Zane lived in a perpetual state of fuzzy headed feedback.

Spending his days with the hums and buzzing of the computers in cyber crimes, actually had something of a calming effect.

The computer explosion and the dizzying whirlwind that was Ty Grady, followed by a car bomb, and then back to Miami. Then the car crash. And then. And then and then.

Gun shots and explosions, screaming and shouting. Ty’s voice moaning in his ear, singing in the kitchen, screaming his name, in pleasure in pain in fear in joy.

God he loved Ty’s voice.

Gunshots, explosion, gunshots, explosion, gunshots, explosion.

Ty screaming his name.

When the dust settled and the smoke cleared, life was quiet.

That was when he noticed.

That whirling chiming hum underneath every sound and silence. Conversations around him seemed quieter. Ty sounded further away. He was constantly asking people to repeat themselves.

Ty caught on quickly. But he didn’t say anything. But Zane could tell that he knew. Because he started singing more. Zane loved to hear him sing, and Ty knew it. Zane used to have to beg or catch him when he thought he was alone. And now Ty sang every day.

His ENT assured him that the damage shouldn’t get worse for a long time yet. That his hearing might not even get any worse than it was at all. He hoped she was right. Hearing aids would look real sexy and badass next to his reading glasses and blood pressure pills.

But Ty still looked at him like he was the most desirable thing in the world. Still wanted him. He bought a bunch of novelty post-it’s shaped like food and animals, and started leaving Zane notes all over the place. Things he needed to tell him, but didn’t require conversation.

_The new poetry anthologies will be delivered tomorrow at noon._

_Add cat food to the grocery list - do not get the cheap shit._

_I like those new jeans on you._

_Kelly sent us some weird new body wash, it’s in the bathroom._

_Don’t forget to send your mother a birthday card._

_I love you._

And he kept singing every day. Babbling whenever he could. Knowing what conversations they could have that could afford Zane not quite getting every word. He laughed more now. And seemed to feel vindicated in yelling whenever he wanted.

Ty figured out pretty quickly exactly how much he needed to adjust the volume of things; like the tv and his own voice. And Zane found a blessed new freedom in how many things he was able to more easily ignored now.

There was still that worry in the back of his mind. That it would get worse. One more explosion, one more gunshot next to his head, one more decade of deterioration with age. In those moments, the only regret he truly had, was the idea that one day he’d no longer be able to hear the sound of Ty’s voice.

So he soaked up and enjoyed every note of it.

They’d faced worse enemies than tinnitus.


	26. Blindness - Preston

_  
“My idea of help from above is a sniper on the roof”_

Preston and Julian fell into a clockwork rhythm within a week of knowing each other. In the military, in freelance work, in their everyday lives. Wherever Julian went, Preston was never far behind. Watching his back. Taking care of him. Julian couldn’t cook or drive. He _needed_ Preston.

So when a grenade blast that was admittedly marginally Preston’s fault on some level, left his vision a bit blurry, he was understandably annoyed.

Once everything had healed, and it was clear that his vision wouldn’t get better, he finally relented to glasses and contacts. It was good enough. He could still do his job, inconvenient as his new handicap was.

“You missed the exit.”

“I did not!”

“You did, though. Where are your glasses?”

“I’m wearing my contacts.”

“Are you sure?”

“Am I sure that I have foreign objects plastered to my eyeballs right now? Yes, sir, quite certain.”

“You don’t need to get bitchy.”

The third time Preston had to get his prescription updated within a year, he spoke to the doctor about surgery. He wasn’t surprised at the disappointment upon hearing that it wasn’t an option, but the tears that threatened to choke him were something of a shock in of themselves.

Things got blurrier, which was bad enough. And the stronger prescriptions were giving him headaches. More often than not, he’d forego the contacts completely so that he could take off his glasses whenever he needed a break.

His scores at the gun range worsened to the point that he just stopped going. It wasn’t worth the frustration and tears that only blurred his vision further.

A blind sniper. It was like a bad joke. Granted, they were retired, but still. There were very few things in this world that Preston took true pride in. And every single one of them required him to be able to see more than a foot in front of his face.

When he was informed that he was no longer allowed to drive at night, it took every ounce of his willpower to not kill everyone in the room or break down sobbing.

“Why is it so dark in here?”

“It... isn’t?”

“It isn’t?”

“No...... Do you-“

“I’m going to bed.”

When they took his driving license away completely, Preston took pride in the fact that he didn’t break down until they were home. Made it all the way to the livingroom before collapsing on the couch, and crying so hard he couldn’t breathe. Julian held him, not saying a word, just letting him process it all how he needed to while Cameron made them some tea.

Cameron had been taking on more and more of the housework. Julian was learning to cook, and cleaning up more. Even the animals seemed to understand that Preston couldn’t see them, and stayed out from underfoot. One day, Wesson even prevented him from falling down the steps, instead of trying to push him down them.

Preston tended to stay in his room more often than not. Sleeping mostly. The one time Julian dared say the word ‘ _depressed_ ’, Preston gave him such a withering glare, it almost seemed as though he could see him again.

Cameron downloaded audio copies of all of Preston’s favorite books, and Julian was getting better and better at cooking. Preston appreciated the effort, he truly did. But it still felt... wrong.

“I don’t know what to do.” He finally admitted, voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know who I am anymore.”

“You’re Preston.” Julian answered simply. As though it was an indomitable fact that needed no further specification. “There’s adjustments to be made, yes. But you’ll find your feet.”

“What good am I to you anymore? I was always your eyes. Your guide. Your support. What am I if not that?”

Preston felt Julian wrap his arm around him and pull him close.

“Well. I suppose you’ll have to settle for being my brother. My best friend. And I’ll just have to keep you around for the pleasure of your company, because I love you.”

They sat with that for a moment. Letting the silence be comfortable again like it use to be, instead of tense and loaded as it had been for far too long now.

“You’ll have to hire a real chauffeur, though. Neither of you can drive for shit.”

“Cameron’s not so bad at it. And I’m getting better.”

“It would still be safer to have _me_ drive than one of you.”

“Cameron has the Uber app. We didn’t want to tell you yet.”

“I was right. You’re lost without me.”

“Yes. Yes, I would be.”


	27. Extreme Weather - Liam

Liam preferred jobs in warmer climates. Spending his teen years in England was miserable enough. But the first decade of his life had already cemented a deep hatred of cold weather.

Sometimes his dreams would take him back there. The snow covered alleys of Leningrad were no place for a child, but the orphanages were worse. He’d run away so many times, they gave up looking for him.

He was better off alone, anyway.

But there were moments, curled up in alcoves or underneath abandoned trucks, when he wished things could be different. He couldn’t quite remember his parents faces. He was so young when they were taken away. He didn’t know if his father ever hugged him, or if his mother sang him to sleep.

He liked to imagine that they did. With an empty stomach and frozen fingers, he would squeeze his eyes shut and imagine the loving family he was certain he once had. He’d fall asleep pretending someone was holding him.

But then he’d wake up, hours later, teeth chattering hard enough to hurt. Everything hurt. The cold cut through to the bone, no matter how many layers you had, or where you’d found shelter. But he knew to be grateful. Even that young he knew, that if he stopped feeling the cold, _that_ was when he was in trouble. If he stopped shivering and his teeth stopped chattering, if he felt truly warm when he fell asleep, he wouldn’t wake up.

But still, sleeping in the blizzards, shivering and and alone, was far better than what he knew some of the other street kids did for a warm bed and fresh food. Liam was better off on his own. He always had been.

When he’d ended up in England, it was the middle of winter. The children from East Germany, scooped up by the same stupid program, complained about the miserable weather. Liam wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or hit them. So he just avoided them altogether, and claimed the bed closest to the radiator while they were whining.

In the desert, the heat was almost unbearable. He wasn’t built for that. He’d never even imagined heat like that. But he was very good at pretending to be completely unaffected by anything and everything, even if he was dying. Which made it even more satisfying at night, when the others complained about the cold, and Liam snuggled up comfortably.

For a while there, he’d dreamed of spending his days, laying on a beach with the man he loved. But in the end, he was always better off alone. He knew that.

Working for the NIA, he was afforded _some_ say in which types of missions he preferred. And he made it known that he liked the tropical oriented jobs best. They’d sent him back to Russia a few times. He’d made his displeasure at that, _quite clear._

When he was finally free, his own man again for the first time in a lifetime, he didn’t know what to do. Where to start. What he would be.

But he knew he wanted to go somewhere warm.


	28. Accident - Amelia

When Amelia Grady turned 17, she made a number of promises to a number of people.

She promised her Uncle Zane that she would remember and follow every rule and word of caution that he taught her.

She promised her Uncle Ty that she would never buy a bike without him or Zane with her.

She promised them both that she would keep any bike she drove in pristine working condition.

She promised her father that she would never drive over 70mph, and never in dangerous conditions.

Her first bike was a gift from her uncles. A Honda Valkyrie, just like Zane’s, but brand new and in her favorite color. It was her pride and joy. She loved it even more than her car, but she made sure not to let her car know that.

Amelia was an extremely careful driver. Very responsible. But still. Shit happens.

Like a toddler escaping from their parents and darting out onto Main Street. Causing any extremely careful and responsible biker to take instinctive action.

Perfectly understandable.

Laying in the middle of the street, taking stock of everything that hurt, Amelia began crafting exactly what she was going to tell her family, to get her in the least amount of trouble.

Nothing felt broken. That was a good sign. Everything hurt, but in a very bruised sort of way. She was hesitant to try to move yet. She could hear people shouting around her.

“You alright, buddy? Can you hear me?”

She felt someone press two fingers under her jaw. She snorted and reached up, swatting their hand away.

“Still alive.” She groaned, pulling her helmet off. She could hear the sirens of an ambulance approaching. “That’s probably unnecessary. But I won’t say no to an EMT double checking that theory.” Talking was only marginally painful. She had a little trouble catching her breath, but not really trouble breathing in general.

“Don’t try to sit up.” Her good samaritan advised.

“Wasn’t gonna.” She assured him. “Hey. How’s my bike?” She grimaced, afraid of the answer.

The man sighed, shaking his head with a deep frown as he looked over to where her most prized possession was probably laying.

“No good at all. I mean... it’s a _Honda_...” he scrunched his nose as he spit out the word like it was offensive. Amelia laughed, immediately regretting the action as it jostled her injuries.

“You dick!” She admonished. “I’m guessing you’re a Harley man?”

“Through and through!” He confirmed, grinning. “But your garbage bike is fine.” He laughed as she flailed her hand out to smack him. “She’s a little scuffed and her left mirror is busted. Nothing that can’t be fixed up easy.”

He waved his hand up, and called over the EMTs. They asked her questions and checked her over. The man didn’t leave her side. Holding her hand, and answering what questions she couldn’t from what he saw of the accident.

When they finally let her stand, he helped her to her feet. And she finally noticed the blue denim vest he was wearing. And the patches on it. Like the one with a fire giant holding a sword. And the one that said ‘Pagan’s’ in blue. She blinked rapidly at the patches, and then looked back up at the man’s face, which was smiling kindly at her.

“They say you’re good to drive. Bike looks in working order. You want somebody to follow behind, make sure you get home alright?”

“Nah, I’m good. I’m gonna be sore for a week and my pride may never recover.” They both laughed. “But I’m alright to get home. It’s close and I can stick to side streets. Thank you.”

“No problem.” He helped her pull her bike upright and patted her on the shoulder. “You take care of yourself, Valkyrie!”

“Will do!”

As she drove home, she wondered which part of the story would give her father the biggest aneurysm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who are unfamiliar, the Pagan’s are a motorcycle club (biker gang) that can be found in several states, including Pennsylvania.


	29. Reluctant Bedrest - Cameron

  


Cameron tried to breathe as he laid in the dark. But it was no use. He sat slowly, pushing away the heavy blankets. It was a little easier to breathe when he was upright, and he knew if he could just stand up...

  


But as soon as his feet hit the floor, he was being gently manhandled back into bed. 

  


“ _Nooooo_!” He moaned, pitiful even to his own ears. “I can’t breathe when I lay down!”

  


“Then I’ll prop up some pillows so you can sleep sitting up.” Julian responded patiently, moving Cameron’s legs back onto the bed every time he tried to get up. 

  


“I have too much to do.”

  


“The dogs have been fed and walked, lunch has been made, and there is nothing you need to do that can’t be done until you’re well.” Julian pushed him back against the pillows and pulled the blankets over him. 

  


“I’m _fine_. I don’t want to be stuck in bed all day.”

  


“And _I_ don’t want to have to rush you to the hospital again.” Julian grumbled, handing him a glass of water. 

  


“Okay, that was _once_.” Cameron insisted, his voice slurring as his nose stuffed up again. “And that was a miscommunication over medication dosage, _not_ an inability to take care of myself. And I-“ Cameron broke off to catch his breath, feeling winded from speaking so much, so quickly. 

  


Julian raised an eyebrow at him. “Uh-huh.” He muttered, dubiously. “Well, this time, _I’m_ taking care of you, and you will keep your ass in bed, or I will tie you to the headboard.”

  


“Promise?” Cameron smiled weakly. Julian chuckled and shook his head, pressing a kiss to Cameron’s forehead. 

  


“ _Sleep_ , my love. Consider that an incentive. As soon as you’re healthy again, I’ll fuck you to your heart’s content. But not a moment before.”

  


“Mmm. I like that deal.” He yawned , which turned into a coughing fit that left his entire body sore and tired. “Will you stay and hold me for a while?” He murmured. 

  


“Of course. Always.” Julian smiled and climbed into bed, pulling Cameron gently into his arms. “Rest now. There’ll be food when you wake up.”

  


Cameron smiled, melting into his husband’s embrace as he drifted back asleep. He hated being sick. He hated bedrest. But he had to admit... European healthcare was excellent. 


	30. Ignoring an Injury - Sadie

  


The fall wasn’t that bad. Her ribs were only bruised, not broken. And it was too short notice to replace her in time for the competition. It was Sadie’s first professional show. Her first year out of juniors. Officially representing her family and their ranch. Her grandmother was so proud of her. There was no way she was gonna let her down. 

  


She ate a light breakfast. She was hydrated. She was barely dizzy. She took some aspirin. The pain was barely noticeable. She was fine. 

  


She was up next. 

  


You could do something your whole life, and never realize just how much movement it involves, until every movement is painful. Every shift and turn ached. Every time she lifted her arms too quickly, it felt like she was pulling every muscle in her back and chest. 

  


She kept her breathing steady. She could push through this. Her horse could tell something was wrong. But he knew what they were doing. They’d practiced a thousand times. And rather than be spooked by her being off, he seemed to understand that he needed to do most of the work today. 

  


They were halfway through. She steeled herself, minding her breath and focusing her attention on what they were doing. She refused to mess this up. She represented one of the largest horse ranches in the southwest. Her family had a reputation that was up to her to maintain. 

  


She _refused_ to fail. Hell or high water. Blood and broken bones. She was a _Garrett_. A little pain wasn’t going to stop her. 

  


When she finished, the pain had turned to nausea, and that dizzy feeling came back as she dismounted. She looked towards the judges table. She wasn’t the last to go, but she had the highest score so far. 

  


She grinned, chuckling breathlessly as she leaned against her horse, pressing her sweating face to his neck. She could hear someone saying her name. She didn’t care. Her entire body was sore. 

  


She tried to take a deep breath, and a jolt of pain shot through her. Her knees gave out and she felt someone catch her before she fell to the ground under the horses feet. 

  


She was grateful, but the lifesaving arm around her middle, also compounded the pain. Luckily, whoever it was, helped her sit on one of the benches, and let go. She was fairly certain it was her father. She thought she could hear his voice. 

  


“‘M fine!” She heard herself mumble. “J’st bruised. ‘M okay.” She tried to catch her breath. “ow.”

  


One of the medics came, and spent a solid half an hour lecturing her for competing while injured. She chewed her tongue to avoid pointing out how well she did. She was pretty sure she was gonna win. 

  


She was given some pain meds and ordered to rest. When her mother walked over and raised an accusatory eyebrow at her, Sadie snorted and rolled her eyes. 

  


“Can you honestly say you wouldn’t have done the same thing?”

  


“You’re supposed to be smarter than me.” Annie grumbled, sitting next to her. She sat next to her as they watched the last competitor. He was crap. Sadie was gonna win. “Feeling any better?”

  


“Yeah. Not dizzy anymore either.” She drank some water and picked at the label on the bottle. “I did really well.” She said firmly. 

  


Annie sighed and put her arm around her, kissing the top of her head. “You always make me proud. Do you know that?”

  


“Yeah. I know.”

  


“You’ve got _nothing_ to prove.”

  


“I know, mom.” Sadie closed her eyes and grinned as she heard the announcer say her name. “I won.”

  
  



	31. Whipped - Ty & Nick

Ty had found that focusing on the arbitrary details helped distract him from the rest of it. The bullwhip was surprisingly nice quality. Well taken care of. Might’ve been new. It was heavy. Probably because he’d been holding it for a while. And they kept making him swing harder. 

  


The blood and welts on Nick’s back made his head spin. But he couldn’t stop. There were guns trained on them both. If he stopped they’d either shoot them, or they would chain him up next to him and flay the skin off both their backs. He had to keep going. 

  


His eyes traced the swirls of the knots on Nick’s tattoo. The intricate cross covered his entire back. It was truly beautiful. Ty wondered if this would scar and ruin it. Although. It was a cross. Whip scars might just add to the artistic effect. Ty felt a bubble of hysterical laughter catch in his throat as Nick cried out in pain. 

  


He could do this. They could get through this. Everything was gonna be okay. They were stronger than this. 

  


~

  


Nick counted in his head for a while. It helped ground him. The metal cuffs cut into his wrists. Chained to the wall just above his head. If he was at his full normal strength, he might be able to pull the loop hook they were connected to out of the wall. But he was nowhere near normal strength. He could barely stay on his feet. 

  


He kept counting. He could hear Ty’s frustrated noises every time they told him to go harder. He wanted to tell him it was okay. But he couldn’t make the words come out. It was okay. They were okay. Everything was gonna be okay. 

  


He could take it. 

  


_Fifty-three. Fifty-four. Fifty-five._

  


**_Harder._ **

  


_Breathe in. Breathe out._

  


He could take it. 

  


He preferred when they made Ty hurt him. It was worse when they made him hurt Ty. He didn’t care what happened to him. So long as Ty was safe. He would do whatever it took to protect him. 

  


His back felt like it was on fire. He didn’t know how long they would make him keep at this. But it would end eventually. It always ended eventually. And they would get out of here. Eventually. 

  


They just had to hold on. They just had to stay strong. 

  


**Author's Note:**

> *  
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